It wasn't coffee

For me, one of the hardest parts of writing is deciding where a story started. Take this morning, for example. It would be simplest to say that I ended up licking cat blood off of my arm because of a cat fight that took place at 6:40 AM... but I don't feel like that tells the whole story, or even a significant part of it. Because, normally, I don't lick strange substances off of my own arm... so I need to back up and explain why I was unusually tired this morning and in a state where licking a strange brownish substance off my own forearm seemed logical.

So I'd go backwards and start the story last night around 10:30 when I got a text message from my sister in Nashville and decided to get up and call/text with her rather than sleeping--- which meant I didn't fall asleep until after midnight.

But that doesn't quite do it either, because the fact that I heard her 10:30 text is a bit of an anomaly, 'cause my phone was accidentally set on vibrate and, normally, I'm asleep WAY before 10:30 and I wouldn't have heard my phone.

So I take a step back and explain that I was up so late because of the FedEx man. Julie and I purchased a Groupon for $150 worth of wine for only $53 bucks- a fantastic and delicious deal. We'd been tracking our wine all day (nope... no problems here!) and knew that it was supposed to be delivered that day. In the past (because we often have wine delivered...) they have just left it on the doorstep, despite the fact that they are supposed to have a signature, but we still were anxious that they'd take our wine back and not deliver it. When we got home from the gym around 7 and there was still no wine, we decided not to worry about it and wait for the morning. Which is why we were a bit surprised when the FedEx guy showed up with 3 giant boxes (2 Pampered Chef and one wine) just a few minutes before 10. He didn't ring the doorbell, but I had heard/seen his truck and headed down the stairs. He left the first box and went back to the truck and, while he was away, I grabbed the box and brought it inside. Didn't turn on the porch light or anything. That's when I realized that he was coming back with a second box and was probably going to notice that the first giant box had disappeared. So I did what any self respecting adult would do and waited for him to leave the second box, slightly confused, and grabbed it the minute his back was turned. Which was, of course, when we realized that he was coming back to the door a 3rd time. The final trip brought our wine and we turned on the light and signed for it (dude thought we were nuts). And then went to bed.

But that doesn't quite do it either, because I would not normally have seen the Fed Ex truck pull up at 10 o'clock at night, had I not been in M's room trying to get her to wake up enough to drink a glass of water. I would have been asleep.

So I take a step back and explain that M fell asleep in the car on the way home from the gym today, eating a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. When we go to evening classes, we usually leave her and her dinner with her grandparents just around the corner from the gym. Normally they give her her dinner, play with her a bit and let her watch TV while we are tortured for an hour. Yesterday, however, was the first day that the pool in their development was open, so her Papa took her swimming instead of feeding her. Which is why she was eating her dinner in the car on the way home at 7 PM when she fell asleep. With part of the sandwich still in her mouth. Which is why I was in her bedroom at 10 trying to get her to drink water because, while I'm pretty sure she had swallowed it by then, I was having mini panic attacks about her choking. Which is why I heard the FedEx guy. Which is why I was still awake when C texted me. Which is why I was able to talk with her for a few hours last night. Which is why I got less than 5 hours of sleep. Which is why I was exceptionally tired this morning. Which is why I needed my coffee. Badly. Which is why I was showing such poor decision making skills in licking up (what I believed to be) every last drop of coffee that I could. Which is why I now know that cat blood and human blood are indistinguishable on the palate.

So in the end, it looks like I can blame my in-laws for this one.

Picking myself up and dusting myself off...

So much for a post a day, right? Revised purpose of this blog... to post stuff occasionally. I tried. Life did not see fit to furnish me with that much uninterrupted time on a daily basis.

What brings me back today is Pierre's current obsession with puppets. For the record, I don't like puppets. Blame it on too many Chucky movies as a kid or that RL Stein book about the puppet that keeps coming back to life or my failed attempt at being a ventriloquist when I was 9 or the fact that I just flat out suck at doing voices unless I'm reading a story... whatever works. But Pierre currently LOVES puppets and our family has been more than happy to indulge her iterest. It started around Christmas when she got a beautiful set of finger puppets from Aunt R. Two of them struck an immediate chord with her- King Lion and Queen Elephant. She just wanted them to talk to each other while she listened. Didn't matter what they talked about, so long as they did it in a British accent. Several times a week she would pull them out and insist that I make them talk and I would manage to play for a few minutes before wandering off to unload the dishwasher or schedule an elective root canal. (Julie, on the other hand, is an AWESOME puppet player and loves this new development!) Then, about a month ago, my MIL bestowed upon us a collection of Disney puppets (Mickey x 2, Minnie and Goofy) from Julie's childhood. Suddenly, everything had to be done through Mickey- it was like Pierre had hired her own personal bodyguard/secretary/bouncer to deal with me.

"Pierre! Your lunch is ready!"
"Tell it to Mickey!"
"Pierre! Time for school!"
"Tell it to Mickey!"
"Pierre! Clean this up!"
"Mickey will do it!"

Just as I got used to spending hours a day with my hand up Mickey's ass, talking in a squeaky voice, a package arrived from Aunt C.

Any guesses?

A puppet, you say?

Well yes! A puppet indeed. A large pirate puppet with a stick to help him move his hand and gesture as he talks. A puppet that struck just a wee bit of fear in Pierre's heart and garnered immediate respect. On the first day she would not touch the puppet, but wanted to talk to it, warily, from a distance while Julie brought him to life. If she misbehaved, we would threaten to tell the pirate and she would lose it. This seemed like a puppet scenario I could deal with. Then, midway through the pirate's first day in our house, we struck gold. For some reason we're still not clear on, Pierre decided that should could impress the pirate by peeing on the toilet without having to be told (she's been potty trained for over a year, but seldom goes spontaneously. We always have to drag her there and put her on the toilet.) The moment she was done she insisted Julie animate the puppet so she could tell him that she had peed. And the pirate praised her to high heavens. And then this became a thing. For days she has been going to the toilet on her own and then running to the pirate for praise. We don't know why, but the pirate did it. He finally got Pierre to notice when she has to use the bathroom. We'll never quite understand this, but we are incredibly grateful to him. (We'll also never understand why Pierre occasionally taunts the pirate by pointing out quite smugly that he has no feet.  It's a complex relationship.)

Today Pierre has been unusually intense about the puppets and has been introducing them all to one another. Mickey, meet King Lion. King Lion, this is the Pirate. Pirate, meet Minnie. Seal, this is Giraffe. At some point, my brain started to go numb. That was when Goofy noticed Dudly.